


All The Bad Parts, Too

by sofa_and_stuff



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, HQ! - Freeform, Haikyuu - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Other, References to Depression, depressed!reader, haikyuu!! - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26685952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sofa_and_stuff/pseuds/sofa_and_stuff
Summary: Sakusa hasn’t seen his significant other in two weeks. Where had you gone? What were you doing? Was it his fault?
Relationships: Sakusa Kiyoomi/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 118





	All The Bad Parts, Too

**Author's Note:**

> Just wanted to add a little trigger warning: this work deals with the reader experiencing depression.

It had been two weeks since Sakusa had last seen you. Two days since he had last called you, heard your voice. Two hours since he had seen that you had read his text.

Sakusa — I’m coming over.

Read: 2:44pm

Sakusa didn’t know what to make of it. One minute, you were there, with him, and the next, you’d nearly vanished. He missed the way you’d call him every afternoon, telling him about your day. All the little things that you’d seen that had made you happy; the changing color of the leaves, the way the sun filtered through your window in the morning, the soft padding steps of a neighborhood cat who’d somehow made it on to your apartment’s balcony. He missed seeing you, the way your lips would turn upward when he brushed his hand against yours. He missed the way you’d say his name, gentle and filled with every ounce of love that you could muster. He missed you.

And now, you weren’t there anymore. Sakusa didn’t know why. Did he do something? Did he make a mistake? His heart tightened at the thought, mind racing, wracking through his memory for any slip up of his own—he’d been trying with you, trying to be more open, to reciprocate your love equally. It was hard for him, he knew you knew that, but he was trying, and he knew you knew that, too. What had happened? He could feel you slipping through his fingers, waning out of his life. But dammit, Sakusa loved you, and he was going to try for you.

His fingers gripped his phone tighter, eyes intent on his read text message. With unwavering resolve, Sakusa pocketed his device and began the walk to your apartment. He was not going to let you fade out of his life, he was not going to falter. He would find out what was wrong and he would fix it.

-

You can’t remember when you last saw your boyfriend. It had felt like a day and a month all at once. Time had been like that for you, lately. Your memories had been like that, failing you, lately, too.

You can’t remember the last time you had changed your clothes, either. Seeped with sweat from days spent sleeping and nights spent staring at your ceiling, sticking to your body, you figured they might reek. Your breath probably reeked, too, since you hadn’t brushed your teeth since last week. Had you showered since last week? You sniffed in a futile attempt to gauge what you smelled like, but you’d gone nose blind to your own odor years ago. You thought about the past two weeks, vaguely remembering water running down your back as you sat on cold tiles. It was the closest feeling to being touched that you’d had for the past few days. When had that been? You tried to think of an answer but your mind remained blank. It’d been like this for a while.

It’d been hard for a while. It was always hard for you, but it was harder now. You were okay, mostly, usually. _This_ came in waves. It’d been a part of you, always. But your boyfriend was just lucky enough to meet you between two bads, two crashing waves on your shore.

The last time you were like this was before you met Sakusa. When you got better, he came into your life. Suddenly, everything seemed like it was going to be okay. You memorized everything about him, his little germaphobic idiosyncrasies, the way he’d let his hand fall against yours when he wanted you to hold it. Suddenly, you wanted to be better. You wanted to try harder than ever before.

And for a while, things were better. Colors seemed more vibrant. Food didn’t taste like mush—you could savor every bite. Even every breath you took felt good. When you held your boyfriend’s hand, you could feel him there. He was real and solid and he existed. Things had stopped seeming like fuzz, static, background noise. Time made sense, moved the right way. A weight built up over years had slowly been lifting off your shoulders, and Sakusa was lucky enough to come into your life to witness it happening.

You had never expected to end up back here.

Everything had been going so well. You had a routine—you showered every other day. You washed your face and brushed your teeth in the morning and before bed (you even scrubbed your tongue with your toothbrush!). You cut your nails every other week. Little things, you supposed, but this was you getting better. It was small and big all at once. You had gotten rid of your sunblocking curtains, letting the light fall through your windows in the morning, letting it dance on your skin. You smiled when things made you happy. Things were making you happy. You felt like you were living.

Maybe it was when, three weeks ago, you saw the corpse of a bird decomposing in a trashcan with cigarette ash surrounding it. Maybe it was when you called your mother and she didn’t pick up. Or maybe it was when the neighborhood cat refused to come to you so you could pet it. You could tell a built up fragility was about to hit its breaking point.

But you knew, truly, nothing set this off. There was no one thing that made you revert back here. It was just how you were. Things came and went, and this goodness you felt—you always knew it was fleeting.

The first week wasn’t as vague in your memories. You could remember some things—the way you cried when you realized you had no butter to make a batch of cookies. How you sobbed, sitting in the shower, after your friend had cancelled on some small plan to meet up at a cafe. The numb feeling you had, eyes blank, while watching your favorite childhood movie. You had put up your old curtains, not wanting to be woken up in the morning by the glaring white sunlight.

The second week was a jumble. You remember your hands shaking, heaving breaths in and out. Feeling heavy every time you stood up. your chest felt empty; every time you breathed you were convinced your lungs weren’t getting enough air.

And so here you were now. Everything felt so wrong and so hard and so off. You were lying in bed, staring up at nothing in particular. Your room was dark. No sunlight, no lamps on. There were empty cans littering your desk, used up tissues and socks strewn across your floor. In the corner of your room, you could feel the stress piling up, quite literally. A mix of clean and dirty clothes was lazily thrown into a pile there.

Everything was hard. It was hard to focus. It was hard to relax. You felt like if you were to try to make something of whatever this was, you would break into a million little pieces and turn to dust. You could feel your life fading away, weighing down on you. It didn’t really make you sad, no. It didn’t really make you feel anything. _God_ , you wished it did. You wished you could sob, feel some sharp pain—anything. Instead, it was a dull sort of feeling. A sort of slow pulse that reverberated through your body, from the very core of who you were, as if to remind you “I will always be here, I will always be a part of you. I will always be _you_.”

Your bottom lip was painfully dry. It had split down the center, a reminder of the lack of care you’d been giving yourself. Your eyes were dry, too. You’d stopped crying somewhere in the past week, sick of breaking at the smallest things. You remembered doing this as a child; shutting down. Not wanting to feel this way, stopping yourself from feeling anything.

You knew, deep down, that you didn’t deserve this. That whatever this was wasn’t your fault. You could make it through this. You could get better. but even further down, in the fiber of your being, in the makeup of your mind, you felt like this was what you were made for. To be miserable. You didn’t deserve anything—any help, any love. That this was your fault. This was your doing. This was in your mind, and this was your mind. This _was_ you. This was all you could ever be.

You curled onto your side, clutching a pillow tight to your chest, trying to feel some kind of comfort. You let out a shaky breath, sure that one of these days, all will to live would slip out past your lips, too.

There was one thing that you could feel now, despite all your numbness.

You wanted to go home. You wanted your mother to tuck you into bed, to blow soft breaths on your face, push your hair back on your forehead as you fell asleep. You wanted the soft glow of your nightlight. The sound of your father’s voice reading you a book as you lolled off to dreamland. You wanted your hand in Sakusa’s, the steady beat of his heart resonating with your own. You wanted, so desperately, the feeling of comfort.

But even then, where was your home? Was it with Sakusa, your boyfriend, the man you loved? With your parents, the people who raised you? And did you really want to go home, to actually see the people who could bring you the comfort you craved? You didn’t want anyone to see you like this. Matted hair, crusted eyes, cracked lips. What would they say? They would see you, they would look at you, and you would be vulnerable. You were sure you couldn’t live through that, you’d crack at the smallest bit of pity. You would die at even a hint of disappointment.

So here you were, curled up, not caring, and letting yourself fade away.

-

Sakusa jangled the set of keys you’d given him only a month earlier, trying to open the door to your apartment. He felt his heart race in his chest. _Surely, if you hadn’t wanted him to come, you’d respond telling him not to_ , he thought. _Then again, if you had wanted him to come, wouldn’t you have given him a response, too?_

Shaking away his thoughts, Sakusa pushed the door to your apartment open.

Immediately, he was met with three things: your house was dim, no lights were on, all the shades were down. It smelled of trash—he noticed your garbage can almost overflowing, and several empty, old takeout containers littering your counter. The feeling that something was deeply wrong crept under Sakusa’s skin, worry coursing through him.

He quietly made his way to your room, careful not to touch anything. The feeling that germs were everywhere around your apartment plagued his mind, but Sakusa was determined. He’d brave this for you.

He opened the door to your room, peeking his head inside before going in fully. What he saw almost split his heart in two: there you were, the person he loved, the person who he was going to try for, and you looked so small and so different than the last time he’d seen you. Your hair was matted to your sweaty forehead, covering your eyes. You were clutching so tightly to a pillow that he swore your knuckles looked white.

He took a few cautious steps toward you, noting the smell coming from you. _Oh, you hadn’t been showering._

Kneeling in front of your bed, Sakusa took one of your hands in his own. Your head lifted slightly, and the two of you met eyes. His chest tightened at your face. Your cracked lips, your oily face, and your eyes. They looked so empty, so tired.

“Listen, I…” words faltering, Sakusa’s heart raced, his mind blaring on about all the germs around him, all the germs on you. This whole place reeked. _Dammit_ , Sakusa couldn’t think like this, not right now. He was going to be here for you. He had to do this for you. “I’m going to take care of you, okay?”

Giving the slightest nod, you let Sakusa get to work.

First, he left your room. You heard water pouring from the bathroom, realizing that he had started a bath for you.

Coming back, Sakusa rooted around your room trying to find clean clothes and a clean towel. After a while, he came back and sat on your bed, sitting you up. He took a deep breath before helping you peel off your sweaty clothes and then led you to your bathroom.

He helped you lower yourself into the bath, and began to clean you, all while you sat there, naked, vulnerable, with a blank face.

After cleaning you, Sakusa left you sitting in the bath, letting you soak in the now lukewarm water.

Being the clean freak he was, Sakusa quickly went to work on your apartment, sorting out your clean and dirty clothes, switching your bedsheets, cleaning up the trash on your floor. When he was sure everything was clean, he took down the curtains in your bedroom, remembering the way you’d talked about how you loved the sun in the morning.

He came back to the bathroom, seeing you in the bath still, fingers pruny and eyes still blankly staring off.

Helping you out of the bath, he took the towel he’d found earlier and wrapped it around you, drying you off. Afterwards, Sakusa let you get dressed, and then gently brushed your hair.

He handed you your toothbrush, looming behind you as you looked blankly at yourself in the mirror, brushing your teeth.

When you finished, he led you back to your bed, letting you lie down in your now clean sheets and under a freshly washed blanket. This time, however, he slid under the covers with you, holding you in his arms.

He heard you mumble something, face buried in his chest.

“Hm?” He hummed back, his way of asking you to repeat what you’d say.

“Why?” You ask, voice a little over a whisper. Why wasn’t he disgusted with you? Hell, you were disgusted with yourself. But you knew your boyfriend, your germaphobe of a boyfriend. Surely he hated this. Hated being near you, in your apartment. Why did he help you? Why did he stay?

Sakusa rested his head atop yours, tightening his arms around you, as if to say “I’m not going anywhere.”

He knew the answer to your question right away. Wasn’t it obvious? He loved you more than he hated being dirty. He feared you slipping through his hands more than he feared germs. The thought of losing you, of you fading out, was more overwhelming than the thought of visiting a garbage dump without a mask.

“I love you,” he responded softly, kissing the top of your head.

And that was it. The dam broke. You cried, letting the tears roll down your cheeks. Sakusa tensed, then relaxed again, rubbing circles on your back.

You stayed like that for what felt like hours.

When your eyes dried, your crying quieting down to sniffles, your eyelids drooping, Sakusa repeated himself.

“I love you,” he said, “I love the whole you.” He wasn’t particularly good with being mushy, but he hoped that he was getting his point across. “I love all the goods parts of you, but I’ll love you through the bad parts, too. All of them. All of this.” He sighed, hoping that you understood what he meant.

Letting your eyes close, the emotional exhaustion from crying taking you over, three thoughts remained on your mind: 1. _maybe_ , you thought, _things could get better again_. Things certainly weren’t suddenly better now, but maybe, with time, with work, you could get better again. 2. Sakusa loved you. He loved you enough to stay, enough to see through whatever this was. 3. You loved Sakusa.

Before drifting off, you mumbled something out that made Sakusa’s face tint pink and his lips turn up slightly at the corner.

“I love you, too, Omi.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is pretty self indulgent. A lot of it is pulled from things I've written and experienced. The title is inspired by something my friend said to me when I was telling them about how poor my hygiene gets when I fall deep into depression. They told me they'd love me even when I hadn't showered for days, even when my breath smelled horrible, even when I was dirty and gross and sad. I've been feeling a bit depressed lately, so I thought I'd be productive and turn it into a fic. I hope you liked reading it, and as always, comments are encouraged :3


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